Control: Today’s Thoughts

Today I am thinking about dying until the far future again. I am thinking about being replaced by someone I’ll name Phogie. Phogie isn’t like me. He murders me by stealing my body, shooting the body I was in, and replacing me from 2016 until 2094. He doesn’t write occasionally, like I do. What does he do?

He writes. He writes a book a month the way that I should. He writes a book a month, about 200 pages per book, and publishes them. I know that I should do that, but he actually does it. He does it with gusto and charm, filling every page with delight, action, and fights. He has lots of fights, with people scaling buildings and saving the world and having fun dramatic conflict with other characters, telling them that they are saving the world in the wrong manner and trying to save as many people as possible while telling a few clever jokes.

Phogie connects with the fans. He writes online. He tells people how he feels. He communicates with them correctly. He isn’t paranoid schizophrenic like me, not really. He wakes up in the morning and goes to bed at night, after two to three beers. Phogie has a new regular girlfriend every six weeks or so, one that he says is the one. He marries rarely and for love.

I wasn’t replaced by Phogie, was I? I really want to have my own body. I know — I don’t have a regular schedule. I write about real life and difficult problems instead of silliness about weather dominators. I don’t always get the work done. I don’t always sleep with beautiful women or communicate with people successfully. I just want to say that I try to be a good person, and murdering me would be wrong. Replacing me for money would be wrong. It would be insanely evil — evil and insane.

Phogie is a villain. I try hard not to be. He wants to replace me with someone appropriate, someone normal, someone correct, someone who does what he’s told. Phogie won’t replace me, I don’t think, because I have friends and family who care for me. They will know that I am mentally ill, paranoid schizophrenic, and that I am someone who worries a lot. When the technology does show up to steal a body, I hope that everyone will do their best to check correctly.

I am not Phogie. I am trying to write a novel a month, to stay productive. I am not Phogie. I am not ideal. I am a good person with a full life, though, and I will try to get going to work hard. I will seize the day; I will defeat the dragon; I will run fifty miles; and damn it, I will write a novel a month, starting in June.

Thanks, and take care, fuckers.